The Experiment
by BoughtOnEbay
Summary: In which the author attempts Johnlock. Mild bondage, not graphic, lighthearted. New version, amp'ed up and upgraded with contributions from my vivacious coauthor/editor isaiddangerous.


"Why in the world would anyone want to _do_ that?" John shook his head incredulously, tossing the free magazine onto the coffee table with disgust.

"Do what," Sherlock absently responded. He was engaged in reading the first lines of a string of incoming emails, pasting in the polite boilerplate declination John had insisted he use, and hitting 'Send' repeatedly, each time in a more annoyed manner than the last. He refused request after request to take on some insipid case … boring, boring, _boring_ …

"Bondage," John said, scowling at his flatmate. "People letting others tie them up and essentially take advantage to the point of rape. It's downright creepy."

"That's not what they're doing," Sherlock corrected, finishing his final rejection and sharply whacking the return key. The consulting detective snapped the lid of his laptop closed and refocused his gaze on John. "It's not rape. Bondage operates as a consensual exercise. I had a case once which required my study of the mechanics. It's actually quite interesting."

"Really. So it makes complete sense to you that people allow their lovers to wrap their bodies with duct tape and twine because they think they'll have better sex?" John crossed his arms and raised skeptical eyebrows.

Sherlock replied impatiently. "It's not about bodies, John. Enhancing sexual arousal doesn't come from the transport, it comes from the mind. Bondage is a mind game."

"Could have fooled me," John retorted with a snort. "Obviously, I'm missing something."

Sherlock regarded him seriously, considering. A moment passed, and then he swept up from his seat, and pulled open a small drawer at the desk. He rummaged in it briefly and withdrew a rubber band.

"Here, take this," Sherlock ordered, holding it out to John. When John hesitated, Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Come _on_, John, surely you're not reluctant to try a little experiment." Already sorry that he had brought the topic up and quite sure that he _was_ reluctant to follow Sherlock's whims on this, John reached out warily and took the band.

Satisfied, Sherlock continued, speaking rapidly. "Now. Let's say that we're a couple, preexisting relationship and all that, and that we've agreed to have a little fun tonight, all right?" John's eyebrows crept up, but before he could say anything, Sherlock turned round and placed his hands behind his back, crossing his wrists. Speaking over his shoulder, he went on. "And let's further suppose that this time, we decide to try something new. We play a bit of a scene in which I may feign resistance, but in the end I allow you to bind me." He shook his hands to indicate that John should restrain them with the rubber band.

John gazed down at the slim wrists and long fingers awaiting his capture. He fingered the rubber band uncertainly. "Sherlock, I –"

"John."

Sherlock spoke his name with a quiet, deep tone. The very sound of it raced straight to John's heart, making it jump against his chest. Suddenly the room was flooded with meaning far beyond that one syllable… it became a compelling request which John found himself very interested in fulfilling.

It wasn't as if this were a new idea, to have an attraction for Sherlock. He'd finally given up berating himself for it, and simply settled into a life in close proximity to that which he could never actually have. John had resigned himself to appreciating those rare moments when he allowed himself to take notice, because he would never presume upon their friendship. But what was Sherlock playing at now, disturbing his uneasy equilibrium? His flatmate could not know how very close to the fire he walked.

_It's probably best to just play along_, John mused, as it would be more awkward if he tried to back out now. However, he also knew it would be sweet agony to continue. Soon he'd have to figure out a way to change the subject, or "awkward" wouldn't begin to cover it. But while his internal debate raged, he watched his rough, tanned hands reach out to slip the rubber band over Sherlock's slender ones, securing his elegant wrists. John told himself quite firmly that _no_, he had _not_ felt a small, eager thrill run through his body as he did this.

Sherlock slowly turned back to face John. "Good. Now, next," he explained, "we observe the subtle changes. For example, notice the shift away from the normal balance of our interactions. The rubber band isn't any sort of true restraint, of course, although for the sake of verisimilitude people do use all sorts of stronger materials. But in each instance, whatever is employed, the binding is mostly symbolic." With a slight click of the last consonant, he paused to evaluate the effects his words were causing.

John suddenly grasped that he had become the subject of Sherlock's full attention, not merely serving as an appreciative audience to his brilliance in action. A small movement on the edge of the taller man's mouth drew his eye… that curious quirk, that thing Sherlock did when he knew John was close to realizing something he'd already known for a while, and that they were about to share in the delight of it. John's gaze lingered on the cupid's bow of those full, curving lips—"Symbolic of what?" he stuttered, taking a quick half-step back and forcing himself to look up to Sherlock's sea-green eyes. That, of course, was a mistake.

"Symbolic of my willingness to play my role, of course. My hands remain as if they truly were tied, so now you know that I am doing this of my own will—that I _want_ this, and that I want you to play your part, as well."

"And what, exactly," John swallowed, "is my part?" He knew that Sherlock routinely took on personas when investigating a case, and was a consummate, convincing performer. Of course, he was acting now, _surely_. What John thought he was seeing couldn't really, truly be there, and any moment now Sherlock would raise his eyebrows in glib amusement, whirl arrogantly away, and return to his damn laptop.

Instead, Sherlock lowered himself to perch on the edge of the worktable next to John. He often did this in conversation, but this time was different. As he settled, Sherlock nudged one leg past John, so that now John stood within the V of Sherlock's thighs. Sherlock's hands were still behind his back, and it was as if he gave off an electric field, raising the hairs on John's skin. John felt that he knew precisely where each line of Sherlock's willowy form was in relation to him, especially... _Oh, God,_ he thought helplessly.

"Normally, of the two of us, I am dominant," Sherlock pointed out. "I act, you react. I think, you try to keep up. I deduce, and you… well, you get the idea." John was mildly surprised that, for once, Sherlock had seemed to lose his train of thought after beginning such a familiar discourse. The man actually seemed slightly distracted.

With a small shake of curls, Sherlock focused back on his point. "But now … _now_, you have placed the band to constrain me and the rules of engagement have changed." He leaned ever so slightly closer to John and dropped his voice, persuasively. "Think of it, John… this clears the way for you to initiate."

The quicksilver irises slipped down along John's torso and caressed their way back to his face. "There is no need to find a way to ask for what you want – you can simply take it. In allowing myself to be bound, I have already given my permission for you to give me what _I _want."

John stood stunned, looking down at his astonishing, incredible, ever-surprising flatmate. A wave of exhilaration washed over him to hear Sherlock express open desire for _him_. This devastatingly astute man clearly had already known what John's response would be, and now he was exultantly waiting for him to voice it... or, to just _do_ it. John silently chuckled at the man's hubris; like so many of Sherlock's insufferable qualities, it was inexplicably endearing.

John reached out and tenderly threaded his fingers into Sherlock's glossy dark hair, just as he'd so often longed to do since that first fleeting thought in the lab at St. Bart's. He reveled in the feel of the silky spirals, and Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned sensuously into the pressure of his hands.

Then John bent down, gently took Sherlock's face in his hands, and brought their lips together. To kiss Sherlock Holmes was exactly as perfect and wonderfully incomparable as he'd almost allowed himself to imagine, which was to say it was the most instantly arousing sensation John had ever experienced.

Sherlock's lips melded against his own and they very quickly took up a rhythm of locking and releasing, testing and tasting each edge, each angle, until John tentatively nudged his tongue between those marvelous lips. At this, Sherlock pulled away, shrugging his shoulders and twisting a bit. "Enough of this bit of nonsense, then," he said abruptly.

John froze in abject terror. _Oh, God, just an experiment after all, _he thought in dismay._  
_

But then he heard the sharp sound of a rubber band as it was _thwacked_ across the room, and the detective grinned mischievously. Freed, Sherlock's arms flew around John and enveloped him in a glorious embrace.


End file.
